


Winter Song

by xmarvelstanx



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 03:22:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14393223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xmarvelstanx/pseuds/xmarvelstanx
Summary: (Major Character death isn't really major character death - the character returns!)Loki is the god of winters, of fear, of anger, and ice -Loki is an empty god, until a young boy with a bad heart prays for snow.





	Winter Song

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by many things, but the quotes beneath the title of each part come from Winter Song by Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson which is the song that motivated me to write this AU in the first place. The icicle dividers come from Pixel Galore on tumblr.

****

**Part I : The God**

 

_They say that things just cannot grow  
Beneath the winter snow-_

 

Loki was not favored among the gods.

He understood why, of course. He was among the few gods that brought nothing but death with him - even his brother, the storm, brought life.

He was nearly as detested as Hela, his sister, the ruthless goddess of death. She ruled over a realm nearly as cold as the winters that Loki would bring wherever he roamed.

At least in Loki’s winters, some life managed to prevail and live to see the spring emerge triumphant with the arrival of the Lady Sif.

Loki would sometimes linger, face to the sun, soaking in the light - if just for a moment. He never let the Lady Sif see those moments of weakness - to watch a fawn wobble on new knees, bleating for its mother.

He would move swiftly along before she had any scathing words for him.

No one ever knelt in prayer for Loki.

No one longed for the cold and Loki had heard enough bitter words muttered at his expense. He had no need for more than he already heard each time he arrived.

At one time Loki had felt more anger than he thought he could hold - so much resentment that it felt like it ate him from the inside out, consuming him and leaving nothing else.

He had lashed out so strongly that the whole world had frozen under his hands -

Even the Lady Sif had not managed to climb above his ice and snow. It was a miracle that anything survived, but Loki should have known that if the other gods still walked the earth that life would continue as it always had.

Hela had thanked him personally, but Loki had felt too empty by the time he had spent himself. The words had fallen on ears that did not listen.

Loki had long ago given up being furious at the world, at the gods, at the mortals - he had a sort of resigned emptiness inside himself. It wasn’t a small emptiness, either - it was a deep, black hole, constantly aching, and fleeting moments of happiness always got drawn in and painted in a light that made him forget why he’d begun to feel good in the first place.

It was an awful aching that no one could fix.

Loki forgot what it felt like to feel whole.

  ****

**Part II: The Boy**

 

_Or so I have been told._

 

There are no good words in Loki’s name.

It makes the boy’s cry all that much louder.

Loki is standing on a hillside when the prayer reaches him - it rings in his ears so loudly that he physically reacts, head turning in the direction it came from. The horizon is half hidden by a blizzard of his own making, but it does not stop him from following the fleeting line of mountains with his eyes -

Loki leaves his frozen hill and walks the branches of Yggdrasil until he steps out in front of the source of the prayer.

The air is humid, warm, and Loki frowns slightly, more than confused to be summoned to a place where it is obviously summer.

When his eyes find the boy, he only finds himself even more bewildered.

It a young boy - he must not have even seen ten winters yet going by his size. He’s thin, clothes hanging off his frame, hands clutched to his chest. There are trails of pink on his cheeks, eyes red from tears he had obviously been shedding.

He has not yet noticed Loki and his brows draw together.

Why would he beg for snow?

Loki steps forward to stand in front of the boy, lowering himself to kneel.

Warm brown doe eyes lift in response, pinning Loki -

They’re both surprised.

The boy’s eyes widen and Loki blinks, reaching up to loosen the furs from around his shoulders, allowing himself some relief from the heat.

“Why-”

And that is all Loki can utter before the boy is launching himself towards the old god. Loki flinches, but arms wrap around his neck in a hug as the boy stands, tangling his fingers in Loki’s simple tunic.

“Loki.” He says, and it makes Loki’s chest tighten, lips part. He cannot lift his arms to embrace the boy back, cannot bring himself to do anything. Too much happens inside him for Loki to even begin to decide what to do.

“You came.” He boy says, and he laughs in Loki’s ear - a wheeze following. “They told me you wouldn’t, but you did!”

Loki finally lifts a hand, presses it to the boy’s back - he can feel his spine through his clothing.

“You asked for me.” Loki manages, finally, quietly. He doesn’t say that it is rare - if nonexistent. He doesn’t say that the boy’s prayer was a desperate sound he could not ignore even in anger.

Loki moves his hands to the boy’s sides and gently pushes him away so that he can see those doe eyes once more. The boy refuses to relinquish his hold completely, hands resting on Loki’s cold shoulders as if the temperature doesn’t bother him at all.

“Why would you want snow?” Loki finally has to ask - because the boy’s frame is so slight, Loki fears he’d perish in such cold weather.

The boy looks at him with those wide brown eyes and huffs a soft breath. “Didn’t you listen?” He asks and Loki doesn’t say that he was so shocked to be called at all that he didn’t bother to pay attention to the entire prayer. Instead he lifts a dark brow and the boy huffs a put upon sound that is followed by a wheeze.

“I’ve never seen snow!” He says, and Loki hums - it is true that this part of Midgard rarely saw truly cold weather, much less _snow_. Especially not at this time of the year.

Loki blinks back to the present, thinking less about Midgard when the boy bites his lip and looks down, fingers curling in the fur at the collar of Loki’s cloak.

“The healers said I don’t have a lot of time left.” He murmured, quietly, and ducked his head as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. “My parents think I don’t know, but I’m not dumb.” He licks his lips and finally raises those doe eyes to Loki’s once more.

“I don’t know if I’ll get to see snow if you don’t make some for me.” The boy says, and Loki’s chest feels like it caves in on itself. He stares, utterly silent at the sight of a boy with so much hope to see something that so many others wished to chase away.

  ****

**Part III: The Snow**

 

 _The seasons always change_  
_And life will find a way._

 

They would be angry with Loki, he is certain.

This part of Midgard so rarely gets snow and certainly not at this time of year - anyone would be suspicious.

Some may even begin to think they were being punished and Loki thinks about this as he searches doe eyes that wait patiently for his response.

“Loki?” The voice is quiet, hesitant, and it doesn’t fit the boy that he’d come to see. Loki shakes himself from his contemplation and reaches up - he unclips his cloak and lets it fall from his shoulders. He catches it and wraps it around the boy’s shoulders, smiling softly at him.

A sad, but genuine thing that makes his eyes sparkle. He reaches out to scoop the boy up, giving a soft amused sound at the little squeak he lets out. Loki settles the boy in his arms, cloak wrapped securely around him before he turns to survey the land.

They were in front of a temple - not his own, of course, but a temple nonetheless. He carries the boy further away from the temple, out under the blue sky that darkens by the moment, clouds rolling and hurrying in at Loki’s call.

The boy has his eyes pinned to the sky, wide and shocked.

Loki watches him, watches his breath become visible. The boy’s nose turns pink quickly and he shrinks back into the cloak, into Loki’s arms. The god only tucks him tighter to his chest to keep him warm.

One hand finds the edge of his leather vest - the other reaches for the sky as the first flakes begin to fall. They drift down slowly and the boy catches a few in the palm of his hand, eyes seeming to get even wider. They sparkle and Loki _smiles_ \- it’s something real, something pleased. For a moment he forgets the boy’s ill, and the boy seems to as well. He turns to look at Loki with awe.

Loki blinks in surprise, but hums and shifts the boy around. He supports him with one arm, freeing up the other so that he can gesture for the boy’s hand.  
“Careful.” Loki murmurs as he brushes his fingers lightly over the boy’s palm. Slowly, a fully formed icicle appears in the boy’s hand. Loki huffs a soft laugh at the look of wonder - “It’s safe to eat.” He says with a laugh, watching the boy hurry to crunch the smallest end of the icicle.

Loki ruffles the dark curls then, making sure the cloak is tucked tight around him. They stand in the snow until there’s a dusting over the ground - it’s not enough to make a snow sculpture as some places were fond of doing, but it was enough to make the world white. He sets the boy back down, keeping the cloak secure around his shoulders as Loki kneels back down. He smooths it out, fingers hooking under the boy’s chin to make their eyes meet.

“There. You have seen snow.” He said, softly, as the clouds begin to clear. He drops his hand down from his chin. “Keep my cloak - it will make sure you are warm on the way home.”

“Anthony.” The small voice interrupts him and he blinks.

“What?” Loki tips his head to the side, some of his own long, dark hair falling over his shoulder.

“My name. It’s Anthony. My mom calls me Tony, though.” He murmured, and before Loki could stand, he steps in close once more. Those thin arms wrap around his neck in a tight hug and Loki swallows thickly, a hand splaying over the boy’s back. Over Anthony’s back.

“Thank you.” The boy mumbles and Loki hums softly. He lets him cling for a while yet.

“You ought to go play in it - the temperature will melt it soon and I must get back to my duties. The blizzard I left will have died down by now without my help.” Loki said, softly. Anthony’s arms squeezed him tighter, but then the boy stepped back and adjusted the cloak around his shoulders.

“Thank you.” He says again, and looks up at Loki with those brown doe eyes as the god stands. The god smiles slightly, soft.

“You are welcome. Take care of my cloak for me.” Loki brushes his fingers through the hair he’d ruffled earlier, before he turned.

A last glance over his shoulder - to see the boy turning to run around in the snow, cloak dragging behind him - before Loki returned to the branches of Yggdrasil.

  ****

**Part IV: The Loss**

 

_Is love alive?_

 

Anthony prays to him often.

It’s not every day, but it’s often enough that Loki can keep up with him. He grows some, makes it another year.

Anthony says that the healers don’t think he’ll make it.

Again.

And yet the prayers keep coming and Loki keeps getting updates, keeps learning new things.

When Anthony is ten winters old, he does his first ritual.

It’s stolen wine from his mother’s cabinets and the runes aren’t quite right, but the warmth they bring to Loki’s chest makes that dark hole inside close some.

It has been a long time since someone paid tribute to him.

Little offerings continue to trickle through when Anthony can and Loki listens to all of his prayers.

Anthony makes it to eleven winters.

Loki knows this because Anthony tells him that the air has grown cool once more. Just slightly, but noticeable enough that Anthony took to wearing his cloak again.

It’s not even spring, though, when the prayers stop coming.

Loki had not suspected anything for the first week, but when the second passes without even one word, fear takes hold.

He hadn’t realized how much those prayers had stitched up the emptiness inside of him and it begins to break free once more.

Three weeks pass before he has to know - has to seek out the truth.

He calls upon Hela.

His sister meets him in the middle of a frigid winter - the show reaches their shins and the wind whips at their hair. Loki has braided his back, but Hela’s is pushed over her shoulder.

“Brother.” She greets, quietly, a smile pulling at her lips.

Loki has a feeling she knew why he had called upon her.

“He passed?” Loki asks, clipped, in no mood to reminisce. Silence reigns save for the wind. It whines softly through the twigs of dead brush and over the hills.

“Yes.” Hela says, finally, taking another step to place herself beside him.

“It was peaceful. He was asleep.” She says, but it does not soothe the pain in Loki’s heart. At first he thinks that it might be anger enough to freeze the world - but it becomes clear the longer he stands there that it is not fury. It is a sadness that pierces to his bones and his ruby eyes drop to look at the frozen ground spread before him.

“You will take care of his soul.” Loki says, finally, lifting his chin once more. “If I hear that he has been mistreated in any way, our camaraderie will not last.” He tells her, turning his gaze to pin the goddess’s gaunt face with a firm look.

Hela does not even blink.

“Of course.” She says, and if he didn’t know better he would think that it was fondness in her tone. Death holds no fondness for anything - she waits for Ragnarok patiently, longing for as many souls as her realm could hold.

But her eyes were soft when they find his own. It’s a strange expression in normally harsh emerald eyes.

“Things will be better, brother.” She murmurs, and reaches for his arm. Loki steps out of her reach.

“They will not.” Loki says, voice tense. “Take care of him. That is all I asked you here for.”

Hela frowns softly.

“You did not believe me when I thanked you, did you?” She asks, finally, voice quiet. It is odd to think it small when her presence is often unable to be ignored.

Loki gives her a strange look. A moment later he shakes his head in dismissal.

“Be well, sister. Heed my words.” Loki turns and steps onto the branches of Yggdrasil, taking a deep breath.

He cannot bring himself to step foot back onto Midgard just yet.

Loki wanders the branches, eyes turned to the void. The swirling darkness and pinpricks of light are soothing, ease some of the emptiness.

When he finally takes a step onto Midgard, the wind batters his face and stings his cheeks. He hisses, reaching up -

Loki’s fingers are wet when he pulls them back from his face.

He swallows thickly.

  ****

**Part V: The Demigod**

 

 _My words will be your light_  
_To carry you to me._

 

Midgard grows warmer.

Loki cannot bring himself to conjure blizzards like he used to. They hardly last more than an hour before he has to leave.

He can barely look at his own creation without wanting to break apart, to crumble to the ground. He cannot utter Anthony’s name - cannot bring it to pass his lips.

Winters become short. Everywhere.

It is hailed as a miracle. Crops grow. Wildlife flourishes.

Loki is thanked in prayers, begged to never come back.

Loki wants to flee.

He stays on Midgard only because he would hate to think what Anthony would say if he ever found out that Loki had stopped bringing snow altogether.

Loki’s melancholy makes time even slower than it had seemed to pass before. He no longer stays to see fawns stand on wobbly knees. He moves to the next winter, to the next snow.

There is nothing.

Time passes strangely.

Loki cannot keep up with it.

The winter beckons him to the temple that Anthony had called him to. He cannot bring himself to allow the snow to fall. The wind whips harshly, howling through the columns. The people in the village claim that their god is angry.

Loki leaves without giving in to the duty. The village shall never see snow again if he can resist the call.

It is not a special day. Loki doesn’t even feel particularly mad. The snow has only just begun to cling to the ground when the prayer filters through.

It nearly makes him sob aloud - the sound is unmistakable.

Anthony greets him as if he had never left. He cheerfully talks about how he’d found Loki’s cloak in his parents old home - decrepit now, collapsing. Anthony had cleaned it, clipped it around his shoulders, and taken to the road.

Loki thinks that perhaps his mind had finally broken, had finally been corrupted by that awful emptiness that tore through his chest and crept up his throat.

He does not answer the prayer. Does not ask Hela.

It is impossible - no one leaves Helhiem.

Loki continues to tend to the winters. He ignores the prayers that become increasingly common, until there was one every day.

Some asked for him, called to him. He wouldn’t be able to make blizzards on those days, tears freezing on his cheeks.

Loki stands with his back to the wind - his braids have not been tended to since he spoke to Hela. The hair is tangled, strands flying free and into his face.

Loki hardly blinks.

Tears have frozen on his cheeks.

The next call comes.

It sounds… present. As if it comes from behind him, muffled by the wind and the snow. Loki wants to ask Odin what he did to earn this punishment. He cannot open his mouth.

The wind whistles past his ears.

The next call is louder and this time most definitely present. It is not as light as the prayers - no, this is rough, strained, and Loki turns his head.

There, standing perhaps thirty paces away, is a figure. The cloak it wears is tattered at the bottom and the frayed edges whip against its legs in the wind. Loki blinks and turns to face it fully.

The wind settles some, eases at his whisper.

There is light reflecting off the white of the snow beneath their feet - it’s a soft blue color, and Loki cannot think of anything but what a soul looks like. He blinks, and then his lips part.

The snow has cleared enough for him to see - the cloak is his own. The fur at the collar is unmistakable - it is patterned exactly as the rabbit Loki had hunted many, many seasons ago.

The young man standing before him wears a grin that spreads wide over his face.

A hand lifts to wave and Loki’s knees feel weak.

Closer, now, he can see his features and the brown doe eyes are unmistakable.

Anthony walks through the ankle deep snow towards him, his soul glowing brightly from his chest, body no longer frail or weak. Small markings, geometric glowing lines peek out from beneath his sleeves and Loki cannot comprehend.

Anthony was a mortal.

Anthony’s father was not a god. Anthony’s mother was not a goddess. It is impossible for the man before him to be a demigod and yet here he stands.

Loki’s knees give out.

  ****

**Part VI: The Beloved**

 

_So we can start again._

 

Warm arms close around Loki.

They catch him before he can land awkwardly and Loki tangles his fingers in the fur of his own cloak, clinging to it.

Anthony lowers them to the ground slowly. He kneels in the snow as if it doesn’t bother him and Loki cannot bring himself to protest. He is sturdier than a mere mortal now and he slides his arms around the demigod’s neck, hugging him this time.

He bunches handfuls of his cloak into his fists, closing his eyes tightly.

“You were-”

“Dead.” Anthony finishes - and he has grown. Loki does not know how long it has been, but Anthony sounds winters older.

“Hela sent me back. I’ve been looking for you.” He says, and a warm hand buries itself in Loki’s hair.

Loki shudders through a wet laugh, burying his face against the demigod’s shoulder.

“I thought my mind had broken.” He admits, voice shaking - he hates that he cannot contain it, cannot bring himself to let go of the man before him.

“No.” Anthony says, softly, and tucks Loki’s head under his chin. “No, I am here. I have been here. I have looked for you for seasons and seasons, Loki.” He murmured it quietly and Loki can tell he is tired, voice thick.

“Hela promised I would find you if I followed the winters.” Anthony murmured - “I just have had to take care to be strong enough to survive the journey.” He is rocking them gently back and forth and Loki laughs again, without humor.

“I thought myself mad. If I had known-” Loki’s voice chokes and he snorts - “Of course Hela would not tell me of her plan directly, the wretch.” But his words hold no real harshness - cannot when Anthony is returned to him. He breathes in a few breaths shakily.

“Hush.” Anthony says.

Much later - much, much later - when Loki has gathered himself and led Anthony over the branches of Yggdrasil to a realm far from Midgard, Loki will tell Anthony of his story.

Anthony will ask what he is the god of and Loki will whisper _ice,_ he will murmur _fear, winter, anger--_

Anthony will interrupt him and take Loki’s hand.

 _Wonder, beauty, peace_ Anthony will sigh - _wishes_ he will breathe.

Loki will stare in awe.

Anthony will smile and reach up with his free hand. He will unclip the cloak and bring it back around Loki’s shoulders, clipping it into place gently. He will step closer, wrap his arms around Loki’s middle, slip the cloak around both their shoulders at once.

Loki will slowly wrap his arms around Anthony, rest his chin against the dark curls of the demigod.

Anthony will press his smile into Loki’s shoulder.

 _I’m not going anywhere._ He will murmur.

And Loki will remember what it feels like to be whole.


End file.
